


Into the West

by ariel2me



Series: Drabble/Ficlet Collection [23]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-07
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2018-12-24 21:12:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12021096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariel2me/pseuds/ariel2me
Summary: A collection of drabbles and ficlets about House Lannister and the westerlands.





	1. Chapter 1

**Joanna Lannister**

“Does it not horrify you, my lady, what your betrothed did to the Reynes and the Tarbecks?”

What Joanna yearns to say is this: _I would have done the same, in his place. They needed to be taught a lesson, the Reynes and the Tarbecks, and Tywin taught them and the whole of the westerlands a lesson they would never forget._

She knows better than to say this out loud, however. Men are allowed much and forgiven more; women are not.

She does not yearn to reform Tywin, to change him ‘for the better,’ to turn him into ‘a kinder, gentler soul.’ She sees him for what he is, knows him for what he is, loves him for what he is.  

Her heart does not beat with the desire to be his salvation; it beats with the desire to be his true partner, a lifelong companion not only of the hearts and the bodies but also of the minds.

_We are one, Tywin and I, in all things._

_And oh what heights we could reach together!_

 

* * *

 

****Ellyn Reyne** **

Oh but she was  _furious_! Fate had ill-served her time and time again, had cheated her twice over – no, thrice, now – each time stealing from Ellyn Reyne her rightful due, turning all her hard work into  _ _dust__ , into  _ashes._

Did they think it was  _ _easy__ , doing what needed to be done?  _ _She__  never had any such illusion, Lady Ellyn of House Reyne, sister to the Red Lion, widow to Ser Tion Lannister (formerly heir to Casterly Rock, currently heir to nothing at all.) 

He  _struck_ her. How _dare_  he? “I should have done that long ago,” her good-father bellowed. “I should have done that the first time you climbed into his bed and bewitched my poor Tion into breaking his betrothal with Lord Rowan’s daughter.”

“Your son did not need much convincing, if I recall, much less any bewitching.” The promise of her favor and merely the subtle hints of the delights and pleasures she would rain on him once they were married was enough to persuade Tion. She had not even needed to spread her legs, or to kiss him in places more indiscreet than his mouth, to convince him to set aside his betrothal and to wed  _ _her__  instead.  

But then Tion was  _ _weak__ , weak-willed and pathetic, so very different from his golden twin. His  _ _dead__  golden twin. Even as Ellyn was rejoicing in her success at the time, she was already despising Tion for not being even  _ _half__  the man Tywald had been.

Tywald she had  _ _loved__. Tywald she had wanted to wed for his own sake almost as much as for the sake of being the Lady of Casterly Rock. But Tywald the elder twin had died in battle alongside her father, and Ellyn had done what needed to be done.  

Did they think it was  _ _easy__ , doing what needed to be done?

“Are my sons so interchangeable to you? Tywald, Tion and Tytos, all one and the same, as long as he still lives and will inherit Casterly Rock?”

It was  _not_  her fault that Tywald had died before their long betrothal had been sealed with marriage. It was  _not_  her fault that Tion had died only a year after their wedding. It was  _not_  her fault that Tion had the  _temerity_ to perish before his father, before he was Lord of Casterly Rock, before she was the Lady of Casterly Rock, before his seeds could take hold inside her, before she could give birth to the next heir to Casterly Rock.

And it was  _ _most__  definitely, absolutely,  _ _not__  her fault that Tytos Lannister, third son of Gerold Lannister, and current heir to Casterly Rock, proved to be a sniveling, whimpering weakling even  _ _more__  pathetic than his brother Tion had been.

He  _wept._ Loudly and copiously, in Ellyn’s bed. Wept with regret and remorse about how much he had wronged his wife, Tytos claimed.

 _May the gods spare me from the regrets of men,_ Ellyn cursed.  _And from their appalling tears._ Tywald would never have wept. Her brothers had never wept.

It was  _ _not__  regret, she knew that well enough. It was shame - shame and humiliation about his flaccid manhood, limp, floppy and  _ _useless__ \- that had driven Tytos running and weeping from Ellyn’s bed into his wife’s embrace, “ _confessing_ ” everything purportedly, but in truth putting almost all of the blame on his good-sister, and reserving very little for himself.

And that simpering Jeyne Marbrand had not waited long to brandish her claws, had paused only very briefly to wipe her husband’s tears before going straight to her good-father to tell all.

“Is nothing sacred to you? Not a betrothal, not even the vows of marriage?” Gerold Lannister was still droning  _ _on__  and  _ _on__  and  _ _on__.

“Your son is  _ _weak__ ,” Ellyn replied. “Too eager to please everyone, too afraid to offend anyone. And you know this as well as I do. When you are gone, Tytos will need a pair of strong hands to push him, to force him to be the strong lord that Casterly Rock deserves. That Casterly Rock  _ _needs__. He is a lion whose claws need constant sharpening. And I am the only woman equal to that task.”

“His own wife is not equal to that task, I suppose?”

“Jeyne loves her husband. And that makes her  _ _useless__  in that regard.”

“Jeyne is his wife! They are married in the eyes of gods and men. And she has not done any wrong to her husband, or to our House.”

“Wives can be set aside. There are many precedents, as you well know. You must think of the good of Casterly Rock and the westerlands, and not allow softer feelings and sentiments to blind you to what needs to be done.”

Gerold laughed, bitterly. “Am I supposed to believe that your intentions are entirely selfless?  _ _It is all for the good of Casterly Rock__ ,” Gerold mocked. “Do you take me for a fool?” he asked, scoffing.

“I will be the Lady that Casterly Rock deserves. The Lady that Casterly Rock  _ _needs__.“

And _she_ deserved it, Ellyn thought. She  _ _deserved__  to be the Lady of Casterly Rock. She had earned it, worked and struggled for it for so long, paid for it in more ways than she could count.

This old  _ _fool__  standing in front of her would never understand that.

“You will never be the Lady of Casterly Rock, not even after I’m long dead and rotting in my grave,” Gerold Lannister barked. “You will wed old Walderan Tarbeck, retire to his crumbling and disintegrating castle, and never set foot in Casterly Rock again. That is my command.” Disconcerted, and perhaps even disappointed by her lack of tears, he repeated, “That is my command!”

Did the old fool think it was  _ _easy__ , doing what needed to be done?

Ellyn Reynealways did what needed to be done.  _ _Always__. She vowed, vowed that the Lannisters would soon discover to their peril and to their great detriment that the Lady Ellyn of House Reyne could not be declawed so easily, that she would never forgive or forget, and that in forcing her to become Lady Tarbeck and denying her Casterly Rock, they had sown the seed of their own destruction. 

 

* * *

 

**Cersei Lannister**

“I came to Casterly Rock once. Do you remember?”

“Yes, Your Grace. With your lady mother and your brother Prince Oberyn.”

 _Your Grace._ It should have been Cersei being called Your Grace, Cersei married to the Prince of Dragonstone, Cersei whose wedding was being celebrated with magnificent feasts and glorious tourneys. 

_You stole my life!_

“We had hoped that you and your brother might visit Sunspear in return, but I suppose Lord Tywin was much too busy with his duties to spare you both.”

That the princess would throw Cersei’s father rejection in her face did not surprise Cersei in the least.  _Yes! Father rejected your brother because I was meant for the king’s heir, not the younger son of Dorne who would not be inheriting anything at all. And now you and the Martells are laughing in our faces._

“I would have liked to visit Sunspear, Your Grace. I hear the blood oranges are a sight to behold,” Cersei replied, silently congratulating herself on the gracious tone of her voice.  _You will never know how much I despise you. Not yet. Not until it is too late._

Elia smiled, a smile that would have seemed genuine to anyone else looking, but Cersei knew better. The princess was mocking her, mocking her father, mocking her beloved Jaime, mocking the Lannisters.  _Smile. Smile while you still can. I will have the last laugh when that smile is finally wiped off your face. The gods will not smile on you and on House Martell forever._

And yet, Cersei wondered if the gods had in fact been playing a cruel trick on _both_ of them. Elia Martell was born in Dorne, where the eldest child would inherit, male or female, but she had not been born the eldest. Cersei was actually born the eldest - even if it was only moments before Jaime followed her into this world, his tiny fingers tightly clutching her leg - but Casterly Rock was where the eldest son ruled, not the eldest child.

She buried the thought, contemptuously. Elia Martell had stolen her rightful due. There was no reason for Cersei to feel any kind of bond with her, especially not the bond of thwarted dreams and ambitions.

 

* * *

 

**Cersei Lannister**

Robert was not Jaime, blood of her blood, flesh of her flesh, but he had swung his warhammer at Rhaegar Targaryen and vanquished the man who had humiliated Cersei and her father when he married the Dornish princess. Tall and broad-shouldered, with a head of hair as dark as coal, Robert was as much a maiden's fantasy as the silver prince. Robert was strong and  _ _powerful__ , and when the crowd cheered for him and his bride, Cersei silently cheered as well. She smiled and smiled until her mouth was hurting.  

_He is mine. Mine. All mine._

_I am the Queen. Queen of the realm, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms._

The Dornish princess had only managed “wife of the overthrown Prince of Dragonstone” in her list of accomplishments, Cersei thought with relish.

Her smile faded slightly when Robert’s hands squeezed her breasts so forcefully the bruises would not fade for days afterwards. It faded even more when his teeth snapped shut on her nipples, and when he bit her lips so hard he drew blood as he clumsily tried to kiss her on the mouth, his breath smelling foully of wine.

“You are hurting me,” she told him, and he acted as if he had not heard her plea. Or perhaps he had heard her, and simply did not care.

Her smile disappeared completely when he whispered  _“_ _ _Lyanna”__ as he entered her, entered her so brutally and forcefully she thought her insides would rupture.

She did not tell him that he was hurting her, this time.

 _Your precious Lyanna would be disgusted with the drunken oaf of a man that you are,_ she thought. Her own disgust was overwhelming; every touch, every contact, every gesture made her skin crawl, made her want to throw up copiously.

She scrubbed herself so hard in the bath the next morning she feared her skin might peel away. She wanted rid of every trace of Robert Baratheon. His skin, his blood, his flesh, his seed, she wanted none of it  _ _on__  her, or  _ _inside__  her.

When Jaime came to her, as he had always done from the start, she did not turn him away.

 

* * *

 

**Tywin Lannister**

“Are you ashamed of your father?” Aerys asks.

“I am angry. Shame has naught to do with it,” Tywin replies. Even to speak of shame would bring unpardonable shame to Lannister name and pride.

“I would be both, if it were  _ _my__  father. Angry and ashamed both,” Aerys continues.

“Why should you be ashamed at all?” Steffon asks.

 _What does Steffon know of shame? Nothing at all,_ Tywin thinks, irritated by Steffon’s question. His father struts in court, a trusted member of the king’s council and the king’s own good-son besides, while Tywin’s father makes such a botch of ruling his own lands such that the king has to send  _ _his__  knights to restore peace and order in the westerlands. And who does His Grace appoint to lead those knights if not his trusted good-son Lord Baratheon? A stag roaming the westerlands under the dragon banners, all because that slumbering lion in Casterly Rock Tywin has to call  _“_ _ _my lord father”__  is toothless and clawless, weak and pride-less.  

In his grandfather’s days, such a travesty would never have occurred. Gerold the Golden would never have brought such shame, ridicule and dishonor to House Lannister.

Steffon does not understand. He could never understand. He  _ _adores__ his father; too young to know any better, perhaps, but also by accident of birth fortunate enough to be spared the indignities of being the progeny of a father such as Lord Tytos.

Aerys pretends to understand. Aerys who claims to find his own father unsatisfactory in many ways.

“He’ll return safely, won’t he? My father,” Steffon frets, and he seems his real age for once, not the boy who is always trying to act and sound older than he is because his two closest companions are two and four years older, respectively.

“He’ll be safe enough. It’s not a  _ _real_ war,”Aerys says._ “Only some outlaws and brigands.”

 _Outlaws and brigands have swords that can kill all the same,_ Tywin thinks. And young as he is, Steffon knows this too.

This is what comes of adoring, of loving. The fear of losing.

 

* * *

 

**Tytos Lannister**

His son speaks, and it is his father’s sharp, scolding voice Tytos hears.

His son stares, and it is his father’s piercing, penetrating gaze Tytos sees.

 _Who are you? What are you? Are you a ghost here to punish me, to haunt me to my death?_  This son of his, this fruit of his loins, his firstborn. Gerold the Golden come again, here to lecture Tytos on all the ways he has fallen far, far short of expectation. Here to deride him, to ridicule him, to diminish him in the eyes of the world.  

_You made yourself a figure of ridicule. Wrong, wrong, wrong. No, no, no. You should not have done that. You should have done this instead. Why are you such a fool? Why are you so lacking in sense? Why are you so insecure, so eager to please no matter the cost? Why are you so weak? Why are you not like your brothers? Why, why, why?_

_Why are you not like your father?_

_Why are you not like your son?_

_Why are you such a disappointment?_

“Pray gods your heir will be a sturdier creature with more sense than his lord father.”

_You cursed me, Father. How could you?_

Oh how he pitied himself! What a fate, to be smothered and suffocated between these two. The mighty Tywin Lannister. Like the high and mighty Gerold Lannister.

_I know your secret, Father. I know what you did, long ago, to make us lords of Casterly Rock._

_You have been disappointing me for years, Father._

Tytos had never said it. He was too terrified of his lord father’s wrath to ever say those words aloud.

 _Say it. I know you’ve always wanted to. Say it,_ he dares his firstborn, but only silently, only in his head. He is too afraid of his own son to really dare him to do anything.

_You have been disappointing me for years, Father._

Tywin would never say it. He thinks himself  _above_  saying it, as if it is already obvious to everyone how much of a disappointment his father has been.

 

* * *

 

**Tytos & Tywin Lannister**

>   _Conditions in the west grew so bad that the Iron Throne felt compelled to take a hand. Thrice King Aegon V sent forth his knights to restore order to the westerlands, but each time the conflicts flared up once again as soon as the king’s men had taken their leave. (TWOIAF)_

“Knights with dragon banners are keeping the peace in the westerlands, while the Laughing Lion slumbers in the lap of his son’s wet nurse, searching for his mislaid manhood between her legs. Tell me, Father, how  _proud_  do you think my grandsire would be of you?”

“Silence! You overreach yourself, boy.”

“I’m no  _boy_. I’m more of a man than you’ll  _ever_  be.”

“I should never have allowed you to go to court. You think yourself so  _grand_ , so high and mighty, just because the king’s grandsons are now your close companions. Your blood is still not royal, _and I_  am still the Lord of Casterly Rock, despite all your presumptions and arrogance.”

“Why, Father, it was  _you_  who sent me to court to be the king’s cupbearer. It was  _you_ who sent me away from Casterly Rock, as my punishment for daring to speak out against your weak-willed impotence. Do you regret it now?”

“One day, you, too, will be a father. Pray gods you never have to suffer your own son speaking to you in this  _insolent_  manner. “

“When I am a father, I will never give my son cause to speak to me in  _any_ manner that is less than respectful. I will never give my son cause to be ashamed of me.”

“Perhaps your son will give  _you_ cause to be ashamed of  _him_ , and then you will  _finally_  understand how much you have made me suffer these many years.”

“You, ashamed of  _me_ , Father?” The Laughing Lion had never succeeded in making his eldest son laugh before, but today, he succeeded beyond his wildest imagination. It was a laugh completely devoid of mirth,

full of mockery and bitter derision.

 

* * *

 

****Tywin Lannister** **

“It is done, my lord.”

“I heard. Both children?”

Gregor Clegane nodded. “The mother too,” he added.

Tywin Lannister turned his head almost imperceptibly. “The mother? I said nothing about the mother.”

Clegane met his gaze without flinching. “She was with the boy in the nursery, and refused to part with him. There was no way to get to the boy without  –“

Tywin interrupted. “Yet you had time to have your way with her. Did you do that before or after you killed the boy?”

“Does it matter, my lord? Rhaegar Targaryen’s children are both dead, as you commanded.”

It would matter to Doran Martell and Dorne. That could prove to be an unwelcomed complication, Tywin thought. It had not occurred to him that he should have reminded Clegane not to rape Elia Martell. In hindsight, perhaps it should have. But what was done was done. He would have to try to make the best of the situation.

“And the girl? You did the deed yourself?”

Clegane suddenly looked ill-at-ease. Surely he did not rape the girl too? How old was she? Four, five? Clegane’s appetite could not have run  _ _that__  deviant, could it?

“Amory Lorch killed the girl, my lord,” Clegane replied.

“And?” Tywin persisted.

“Lorch went overboard and stabbed her over and over again.”

That would mean blood. A lot of blood. Another unwanted complication. “I told you to smother the children with pillows.” It was supposed to be done cleanly and efficiently. This was beginning to sound much too messy for his liking.

“The girl was hiding under her father’s bed, and she tried to run away when Lorch came into the room.  A pillow was not a possibility, my lord,” Clegane replied.

“I suppose there was a lot of blood?”

Clegane looked surprised by the question, as if he had not expected Tywin Lannister to be the squeamish sort.

Tywin set the record straight immediately. “Robert Baratheon might object to the sight of bloodied children, even as he’s secretly relieved the threats to his throne have been so conveniently removed without him having to dirty his own hands. Wrap the bodies in crimson cloaks. It would hide the bloodstains, and at the same time remind Robert Baratheon that his throne was secured by House Lannister.”


	2. Chapter 2

> “ _Too soon,” Lord Tywin Lannister had declared when word of the king’s choice had reached Casterly Rock. “Connington is too young, too bold, too eager for glory.” (A Dance with Dragons)_

His eldest brother left, after making that pronouncement about Jon Connington.

“I seem to remember a certain Hand even younger than Connington. Now, what was his name? Ty … Ty … Tytos? Tygett?” Gerion pretended to ponder, rubbing his chin as if in deep thought.

“Don't be a fool, Gery,” Kevan admonished.

“What else could he be  _except_  a fool?” Tygett scowled. “He japes and he mocks, that is the extent of our little brother. Even in a situation as dire as this, when the realm is at war, he sits there, unperturbed, making his  _frivolous -_ ”

“Ah, the secret to my everlasting charm,” Gerion interrupted, smiling, unperturbed. It drove Tygett to distraction. His third brother was always too easy a target, unlike their eldest brother, unlike the shadow they all labored under. Tywin would not have allowed Gerion the satisfaction. He'd sit there, staring at Gerion with his pale green eyes, judging,  _always_  judging, like the Father Above, without feeling the need to waste his breath saying a single word.

“How long are we going to stay silent, when we know Tywin is leading our House down the path of destruction?” Tygett asked, addressing his remark solely to Kevan. “We must choose a side, and we must choose it  _now_. Aerys Targaryen or Robert Baratheon. One of them will win this war eventually, and when he does ...”

Kevan placed his hand on Tygett's shoulder. “Brother, we must have faith. Tywin has never let our House down before.”

“You have too  _much_ faith,” Tygett replied. “Unlike you, I am not content to play his second-in-command while Casterly Rock burns down to the ground. I am -”

“ _I am my own man,”_ Gerion mocked, reciting the words Tygett was too fond of repeating, ponderously.

Tygett made a show of ignoring Gerion completely, but the vein pulsing in his neck told its own story.

“And what will you do, Ty, as your own man?” Kevan asked. “Call the banners behind Tywin's back and name yourself a traitor to House Lannister? Or offer your service as a sellsword to either side? Which side will you fight for? Both sides seem evenly matched at this point. How can you be certain who will ultimately triumph?” His gaze switched to Gerion, before going back to Tygett. Addressing both his brothers, Kevan said, “ We are none of us simply ' _our own man._ ' The ties of blood and loyalty restrict our -”

“Freedom,” Gerion hissed, for a moment forgetting to hide his frustration under a layer of hilarity and mockery.

“Our path to recklessness,” Kevan said.


	3. Chapter 3

> “ _Did you meet with any problems?” “Only Trystane. He wanted to sit beside Myrcella’s bedside and play cyvasse with her.” “He had redspots when he was four, I told you. You can only get it once. You should have put out that Myrcella was suffering from greyscale, that would have kept him well away.” (_ _A Feast for Crows_ _)_

“You’re not Myrcella.”

Rosamund froze.  _ _No one would come close enough to see that you are not me__ , Myrcella had reassured her. But now here was Prince Trystane, close enough to see –

Her face was hidden by the veil. Her hair, straight, instead of Myrcella’s golden curls that Rosamund had always envied, was also hidden by the veil. __If I keep quiet, perhaps he will go away.__

To open her mouth and speak would be the greatest danger. Trystane knew Myrcella’s voice well enough. He would not be deceived.

He would not be deterred from his questions either, to Rosamund’s consternation. “Where is my sweet princess? Where has she been hiding?” he asked, in a playful manner.

The prince was staring at Rosamund through the veil. “May I?” he asked, his hands about to lift the veil to reveal Rosamund’s face.

“No!” Rosamund exclaimed, turning away from Trystane sharply. “You … you shouldn’t be here. You could catch it. Redspots - ”

“You’re _Rosamund_ , Myrcella’s handmaiden,” Trystane said with astonishment, recognizing her voice. “You're really not Myrcella. I thought it was Myrcella playing some game, a fun new game she wanted us to play. But you’re really not Princess Myrcella.”

No, not Princess Myrcella. Only her handmaiden. Only her distant Lannister cousin. A Lannister of Lannisport, not even a Lannister of Casterly Rock. Only her double, here to shield her from any who wished to do Myrcella harm. _A game_ , Septa Eglantine had called it, when she dyed Myrcella’s hair brown and dressed Rosamund in Myrcella’s clothes on the voyage to Dorne. But both girls knew the real reason – to confuse the enemy in case their ship was taken by Stannis Baratheon’s men.

“Where is Princess Myrcella?”

“You must leave, Prince Trystane. Redspots –“

“Were you told to repeat the same thing over and over again? I had redspots when I was four. You can only get it once.”

Rosamund tried another ploy. “You should not have disturbed Princess Myrcella when she is ill. It is not very kind of you. The princess is always telling me how kind and considerate you are. She will not be very pleased to hear about this.”

Trystane stared at Rosamund with disbelief. “But Myrcella is not even here. How could I be disturbing her when she is not here?”

“But you didn’t know that when you came into the room. You didn't know that until I spoke,” Rosamund pointed out.

Trystane looked embarrassed. “Yes, well ….” He paused, staring down at his feet for a long while before lifting up his head again. “I came to see if Myrcella would like some company. It must be very tiresome to be stuck in your bedchamber for days and days. I thought I could read to her, or we could play cyvasse. I didn’t come here to disturb the princess,” he said, sounding defensive.

“I’m sure Princess Myrcella would understand, and appreciate your good intentions,” Rosamund replied.

“You still haven’t told me where Myrcella is. Is she with Ser Arys? Have they gone somewhere? I won’t tell anyone, as long as I know that she is not in any danger.”

“Ser Arys has taken Princess Myrcella away, to keep her safe,” Rosamund said quickly. “Only temporarily, until things have calmed down. We heard them on the streets, shouting for vengeance for Prince Oberyn. Shouting for … for Lannister blood.”

“My uncle was beloved by the people,” Trystane said carefully, side-stepping the issue of Lannister blood.

“I … I’m sorry for your loss.”

“My father’s grief is the greater. He has lost both his sister and his brother. I still have mine.”

Rosamund stayed silent, not knowing what to say. Myrcella would have known what to say and what to do, Rosamund suspected, but she was not Myrcella.

It was Trystane who broke the long silence. “Would you like to play cyvasse? It must be very dull for you, all alone up here.”

“I don’t know how to play. Princess Myrcella tried to teach me, but the rules are too hard, and there are too many pieces.”

“I could try to teach you if you'd like it. I was the one who taught Myrcella how to play the game, though now she is much better at it than I am,” Trystane said, smiling ruefully. “Would you like me to teach you, Rosamund?”

Rosamund would like to pretend for just one afternoon that she was the one betrothed to Trystane Martell, the one beating him constantly at cyvasse, the one putting a smile on his solemn face. That  _ _she__  was the real thing, the actual princess, not a mere double meant to confuse the enemy.

“Yes, I would like that very much,” she replied, all the while thinking, _Forgive me, Myrcella. But it is only for one afternoon. It is only make-believe._


	4. Chapter 4

 

>  “ _Were I given to wagering, I should place my gold on Gerold Lannister. He has yet to put in an appearance, but they say he is golden-haired and quick of wit, and more than six feet tall…”_
> 
> “… _and Lady Webber is much taken with his letters.”_
> 
> _(The Sworn Sword)_

Measured accurately, they were more than a foot apart in height, the man and woman in the painting. She was not standing on tiptoe, nor was he bending down at the waist, but somehow the illusion was created that they were not so far apart in height after all. Perhaps it was the matching expressions on their faces – equal parts satisfaction and anticipation – creating that illusion, Joanna thought.

“They said he was never the same, after she left.”

Joanna turned to study her cousin's expression. “She didn't _leave_. She did not disappear by choice,” she objected.

“And you know this for certain how?”

“From this,” Joanna replied. “The woman in this painting is not dissatisfied. She is not unfulfilled.”

The corners of Tywin's mouth curled up to produce something that actually resembled a smile. “I thought you were going to say that the woman in this painting is in love.”

“It's possible to be in love and still be unfulfilled. It's possible to be in love and not wish to stay. Fulfillment is a better measure than love.”

“He wrote to her, you know. My father saw the letters, the ones he wrote to her after she disappeared. Perhaps he maintained the belief to the end of his life that she would return one day, that she would return to him and read his letters.”

“I did not know that. I have heard that he wrote to her before they were married. Letters of … courtship, I suppose.”

“And she wrote him back.”

“If _you_ had written to me from King's Landing, I would have written you back,” Joanna teased her cousin.

Tywin's expression was solemn as he asked, “Would you?”


End file.
